


art is anything you can get away with

by evenifittakesahundredyears



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Art, Canon Compliant, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Game(s), Slow Burn, memery, two awkward weirdos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 10:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenifittakesahundredyears/pseuds/evenifittakesahundredyears
Summary: After the events of the game, the Phantom Thieves are no longer Phantom Thieves. Without a mission or a leader, how will their relationships change and develop? Will they continue to lean on one another even without common purpose? This is basically just a light fic, mainly from Futaba's POV, though I may have occasional interludes. My two favorite awkward kids find ways to spend time together even after the urgency of their previous life isn't uniting them.





	1. Chapter One: the Anime Glasses Effect and Uncle Ben

It wasn’t that Futaba didn’t know, every time her phone buzzed and chirped, that before he returned home for his final year of high school Akira had asked the rest of the former Phantom Thieves to keep an eye on her, but that she wasn’t really in a position to reject even obligatory attention from her friends. It wasn’t as though she had people coming out of the woodwork to hang out with her. Sitting at her desk by the window in a truly bleak history lecture, she attempted to wriggle her phone out of her uniform blazer pocket as discreetly as possible. She already failed to dodge the chalk once this term, lacking Akira’s legendary grace, and she wasn’t trying to get it hurled at her again. 

It was Ann, who must have been as checked out on her own class one floor up as Futaba was on hers. 

 

**ANN** : hey grrrrl, rooftop after last bell? its been 4eva <3

 

She held her phone one handed under her desk, doodling idle circles on her notebook with the other and hoping it passed for taking notes. It _had_ been a while. In the first couple weeks of her first term at Shujin she had met up with Ann or Ryuji or both almost every day, but now that she’d settled in to school life that had tapered off quite a bit. Now that they’re sure I’m not going to do a runner or superman off the roof like Ann’s friend last year, she thought grimly. She had to physically shake her head to break the chain of thought she’d been fighting since Akira left at the end of winter break. They’re just busy too, and they _are_ your friends, she told herself firmly as she typed her reply and hit send.

 

**FUTABA** : a f f i r m a t i v e [-c° ▥ °]-c

 

The rest of the day dragged, but no more and no less than each day had at Shujin. Futaba had expected it would be much harder than it was to get caught up to where she would be had she not missed most of middle school, but after a couple weeks with Makoto and a study guide, she passed the entrance exam for Shujin with ease. Classes were similarly almost disappointingly easy, despite her time away. While she was grateful for the relatively lax uniform policy (no need to table the neon green tights and beloved bondage boots) and the proximity of her friends here, she sometimes daydreamed about just taking online classes from her room. She knew Sojiro wouldn’t push her, and she could finish the work quickly and easily and still have most of her time to herself. This was another line of thought she fought against regularly, replaying in her mind the pinky promise she’d made with Akira to keep clearing new levels and engaging with NPCs. She was even helping Sojiro at Leblanc on an extremely part time basis now, something no one would’ve imagined even a few months prior. 

When class ended, she trudged up to the rooftop, stepping over the milk crate wedging the rusted iron door open despite the large, handwritten NO ACCESS sign posted on the inside. Looking around past the flower beds, currently vacant, to the cluster of battered and irregular classroom furniture in the corner near the AC exhausts where Ann sat, she was mildly surprised by the lack of Ryuji. He was in the same class as Ann this year and usually tagged along with whatever after school. Ann must’ve seen her searching look, and rather than hello, greeted Futaba by saying “I dunno, he supposedly had something to do. Do you think its going to rain?” The sky was a pretty ominous gray, and it was cool and humid for early May, but the forecast had been clear this morning. She hadn’t packed her lucky Featherman umbrella. 

“I don’t think so,” Futaba reassured, flopping bonelessly into a discarded school chair. She released an enormous sigh/groan without even realizing it.

“That bad, huh?” Ann asked, leaning forward to study her face through the curtain of orange hair. 

“Oh…” Futaba hadn’t been trying to raise alarm bells. “Uhhh, no, not really. What about you? Its the fiiiii-nal countdown,” she sang, pausing in her synthesizer impression long enough to let Ann answer. 

“Ehhh same old. English is going well?” the blonde girl had a habit of phrasing anything she felt self-conscious about as a question, voice teetering upwards at the end. 

“I’d expect nothing less from Anne Windsor,” Futaba shot back, breaking into a British accent only two-thirds as bad as the one Ann had used during the incident in question. 

“Ohhhhhh my god!” Ann cried, throwing her hands up. “It worked, didn’t it?”

As they both came down from laughter, Ann sighed. “Wanna do something?” she asked, clearly getting to why she’d asked Futaba to meet her up here. “I’ve just been so… like…” she trailed off with a vague hand gesture. Futaba understood completely. Akira and Morgana’s departure had been hard on all of them in different ways- opening up a hole in her and Sojiro’s small family that they hadn’t even known existed, but Ann had been struggling in particular. She had shyly confirmed to the younger girl the romantic relationship between herself and their leader that everyone had suspected anyway, and asked her to keep it under wraps. To Futaba it seemed kind of a moot point now anyway; there wasn’t exactly a group dynamic to ruin anymore, if that’s what they were worried about, but she agreed to respect their privacy. 

“Sure thing, dude. Wanna hit the arcade, or…?” Futaba wasn’t the best at coming up with ideas for things to do out in the world. What did Ann like to do? Oh, right. “How about ice cream?” she tacked on, proud of herself. 

“ _Definitely_ ice cream,” Ann began, though she looked more thoughtful than she normally did immediately after agreeing to sweets. “Should we try to get everyone together? Except Ryuji I guess. And Makoto… ugh, never mind.” She looked despondent, toying with one pigtail end and staring down at her red Converse high tops. While Futaba once again knew how she felt, she also went into knee-jerk insta-panic at the idea of having to offer emotional support to her friend. She also really missed the days of getting the whole gang together, of being united by a common purpose that had them all fighting and training and planning together, but also studying, celebrating, and just relaxing together too. Aside from Akira’s return home with Morgana, only Makoto had left Tokyo altogether. She was at college in Yokohama, not so far that they never saw her, but a bit too far for spontaneous plans. Ann and Ryuji had one year left at Shujin, Yusuke at Kosei, and Haru had taken a gap year before attending business school to try to sort out matters at Okumura Foods. As she saw Ann’s lower lip begin to tremble, Futaba blurted out the first reasonable thing she could.

“No, its a great idea! You text Haru and I’ll text Inari. Tell ‘em we’ll meet in Shibuya!” Ann nodded and grabbed her phone. Futaba saw the flashing countdown timer to escape Planet Crying Friend before self-destruct fade away in her mind. Great moves as usual, Samus. She pulled out her own phone and rapidly texted Yusuke. 

 

**FUTABA** : yo Inari

 

She waited. If she was lucky he’d see it today without her texting 47 more times or calling and hanging up when he answered. She’d set a special ringtone on his phone for when she called, a super loud and incredibly obnoxious midi version of the Lavender Town theme from Pokemon Red/Green. Try to ignore _that_ because of “art,” Inari. Ann was clearly more successful, tapping away on her phone rapid fire. 

Today Futaba got fairly lucky, though. The (…) bubble popped up on the screen after only a few minutes. She could see Yusuke in her head instantly, clutching his phone in one hand and typing with a single index finger from the other, frowning at the screen. Mom-style, she called it. 

 

**INARI** : yes?

 

**FUTABA** : come 2 shibuya

 

**INARI** : what are you plotting?

**FUTABA** : nothing ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**FUTABA** : seriously tho Ann is all depressed 

**FUTABA** : Im not equipped for that Inari

**FUTABA** : i’ll buy u kakigōri

**FUTABA** :  ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

 

**INARI** : hmmm… premium melon sherbet flavor.

 

**FUTABA:** ur so compassionate inari

 

**INARI** : and of course my great concern for a trusted companion.

 

**FUTABA** : u have all the tact and subtlety of an AT-AT

 

**INARI** : I dont know what that means so I choose to take it as a compliment

**INARI** : see you in Shibuya, by the walkway

 

“Oh-kay!” Futaba chirped cheerfully. “Project Inari is a go!”

Glancing up from her own screen, Ann sighed. “No Haru. Some kind of meeting. And apparently Ryuji’s ‘thing’ is his mom’s birthday he forgot about until today so he’s going to buy a cake and then home.”

Futaba thought about this for a minute. “Want me to tell Inari to eff off then? Tell him its a girls thing?” She dreaded the idea of being left alone with her emotionally volatile friend, but also knew that Ann and Yusuke didn’t have a ton to talk about at the best of times and that his idea of being “comforting” could be a little grating to a normal person. Still, his heart was in the right place, and he really would do anything for his friends in his own weird way. Futaba felt like she understood him better than any of the other Phantom Thieves, maybe just because she was also socially isolated and seen as weird and obsessive by her peers. 

“If you tell him that, he’ll just offer to show up in a dress,” Ann chuckled damply. “No, it’ll be nice to see him. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

And so the three of them ended up in a cramped booth in an equally cramped ice cream place in Shibuya. Ann had one side to herself (“you’re both so scrawny!” she had exclaimed as she pushed Yusuke in after Futaba), unless you counted the biggest and most elaborate sundae Futaba had ever laid eyes on. Yusuke got his premium melon sherbet kakigōri, chuckling darkly in glee as he ordered. The cheerful young woman in a pastel gingham apron behind the counter was clearly a bit taken aback by it, even as Futaba elbowed him sharply in the ribs and ordered her own strawberry milk flavor. 

The chit-chat had turned to Yusuke’s struggles at Kosei—the fine arts capstone project, which he felt like he wasn’t making great progress on, the rest of his classes. 

“It’s a problem I thought myself well beyond,” he admitted with chagrin, hands spread in a gesture of helplessness. “It’s the sort of thing I’d have turned to Joker for in the past, but…”

“You could always call him—“ Ann offered before Futaba held up a hand in front of her, halting her mid sentence.

“Objection! Inari, do you just _call_ him Joker? Like, full-time? You’re really just out here saying them words, calling your friend ‘Joker?’” No way she was going to let that one slide. What a weirdo.

“Overruled. It felt natural.” Yusuke was bristling. “And you’re one to talk! _Inari_ wasn’t even my codename!” He glared down at Futaba, head turned fully to the side, arms crossed. She stuck out her tongue.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ann said pointedly, “it’s not like he’s on _Mars_. You could just call him.” She was scraping out the last of the chocolate sauce from the bottom of the dish, astonishing Futaba once again. “We talk, like, all the time,” she added, licking her spoon.

“Yeah, but you guys are—“ Futaba began, wanting to justify both to herself and to them her lack of contact with Akira who was, after all, only a phone call away. Then she saw Ann’s cornflower blue eyes narrowing in her direction. Oh, right. Acting like they didn’t all already know. “…super close friends,” she finished lamely. 

Yusuke could be incredibly oblivious in social situations but never, Futaba thought later, in the way one would hope. He noticed what passed between the two girls in that moment and glanced from one to the other with a soft frown between his brows. “Are you referring to the romantic relationship between Ann and Akira? I didn’t realize that was supposed to be clandestine,” he crashed through the conversation like a bull in an emotional china shop. Ann buried her face in her arms on the table, wordlessly groaning in… defeat? Embarrasment? Frustration? Disbelief at Yusuke’s bluntness and lack of tact? All of the above? It was hard for Futaba to tell, since she didn’t understand Ann’s insistence on the cloak and dagger stuff to begin with. She had no idea what the other girl was feeling. 

“Does _anyone_ not know…?” A voice emanated from beneath the mass of blonde hair on the table. Futaba reached out and saved one pigtail from ending up in the sticky mess left of the demolished sundae. 

“That’s uhhhhh…..” she began, before the awkwardness overtook her. She looked up at Yusuke pleadingly over her glasses. SAVE ME INARI she attempted to beam telepathically, knowing that if it was social grace she needed he probably wasn’t her best bet, but alas all she had.

“Impossible to say for certain,” Yusuke continued her aborted sentence smoothly, “but its not as though you were being indelicate about it, simply that we all spent quite a bit of time in each other’s company and the signs were there.” Ann looked up at Futaba, cheeks pink, chin still pillowed on her forearms. 

“And if _Yusuke_ picked up on it,” she whined. Futaba giggled. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Yusuke demanded, once again looking from one girl to the other as they both laughed. 

“Not much gets beamed up to you on Planet Art, my dude,” Futaba offered by way of explanation. She didn’t want to bring up the story Akira had told her, and most likely Ann, about the siblings in the boat in Inokashira Park, but she would if he protested his skill at reading human interactions.

“Actually, speaking of which,” Yusuke plowed on. Ann and Futaba both looked at him incredulously and then at each other. Was he changing the subject tactfully, or was he really that single minded? “Part of my current problem isn’t one I think could be solved by an exploration of the heart, anyway.” Neither of the other two people at the table had any idea what he was talking about and shared another look to this effect. “We are required at some point to take a digital art class, and I put it off as long as possible, meaning that I’m mired in it at the moment, with everything else going on simultaneously. How anyone can accurately capture their passion through the cold removal of technology, I’ll never understand,” he lamented.

“Wait, digital art? Like photoshop and stuff?” Ann asked brightly, clearly glad for the new topic. Yusuke shrugged and nodded— close enough. “I bet Futaba could help with that! She totally knows like web design and graphics and stuff… right? And you sent me that picture of Mika’s head on Ursula’s body that one time which is like…. Digital art?” 

Futaba laughed at this. Digital art. She knew a lot about software but couldn’t really draw. She knew stuff like layout design and typefacing and other things for web design, it was true, but she didn’t know how helpful she could be with art, even if she had done a pretty decent job turning Mika into the sea witch she was. If memes were art, then, sure, she supposed. At the very least maybe she could point him towards the right programs.

“What kind of computer are you using?” she asked Yusuke.

“Just whatever they have in the library or studio that isn’t occupied,” he answered with a sigh. “I wouldn’t know the make and model.” She had figured that Yusuke didn’t have a computer, he was pretty close to illiterate with them in her experience. She had a screenshot of a chat where he asked “…you can use the internet to search for pictures?” that Akira had sent her (titled grandpakitagawa.jpg) when they had been joking about it one time. Still, it would be so much easier for him to get comfortable if he was using the same one whenever he felt like it and not having to shuffle files around on portable drives or cloud storage or whatever he was using. Knowing him he had somehow gotten his hands on a floppy disk and was cramming that into the CD drive of a library computer. 

“Hmm. I can set you up with something decent, I think,” Futaba offered. “But!” Here she held up a single finger and somehow tilted her head, causing the light to glint off her glasses maniacally. She’d never admit to anyone how much she had practiced that maneuver, a carefully calculated toss of the head based on where the room’s light source was. “If I show you the ways of the computer you must promise to remember…”

“Yes?” Yusuke prompted as he and Ann both looked curiously at Futaba’s suddenly intense demeanor.

“With great power…. comes great responsibility, Inari,” she did her best to sound wise.

“Isn’t that Spiderman?” Ann asked, ruining her big moment.

“No!” Futaba exclaimed, slamming her palms down on the table.

 

 

“…. its Uncle Ben,” she admitted sheepishly. 

 

 


	2. Cup Noodle, hold the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a plan is launched, a bargain is struck, and Sojiro can't stop taking in strays.

A week and a half later, Yusuke was hunched over an extra-large plate of curry, making absolutely short work of it in the corner booth at Leblanc. As Futaba made her way around the counter artfully carrying her own plate and two mugs of coffee (DEX UP!), Sojiro leaned in. 

“Does anyone else _feed_ this kid?” he murmured, sizing up Yusuke, taking in how the skinny boy ate like a stray dog worried someone would take his food. 

“I think it was pretty much just Akira, you, and the honorable chef Cup Noodle,” she called back, still moving, not bothering to keep her voice down as she set her cargo down on the table. Yusuke barely glanced up, even as she slid a mug of coffee (milk, no sugar) into his view. She took a sip of her own coffee (cream, lots of sugar), and turned back to Sojiro across the small cafe, adding “sometimes he doesn’t even add the hot water,” proving to herself that it would take a literal earthquake to stop Yusuke eating. She flung herself into the booth across from him.

“…seriously?” Sojiro’s raised eyebrow threatened to merge with his hairline. Futaba nodded grimly before digging into her own plate. Sojiro sighed. He had meant it when he offered to let Yusuke share the space with Akira, and had worried about the boy from time to time ever since. He had seemed so lost when he left that painting with Sojiro, to thank him for, what? Letting him crash on the couch in the attic of his shop for a night? There was clearly more than that going on with him, but it wasn’t Sojiro’s place to pry. He sighed again. What was it about him that made him collect these lost kids? He had enough to worry about. He went back to tackle the dishes, since it was pretty clear he wouldn’t be getting any help from Futaba with her friend over. 

 

When Yusuke finally sighed contentedly and pushed his empty plate away, just shy of licking it clean, his manners returned. 

“You have my thanks,” he said, with the sincerity of someone rescued from a shipwreck. “That was exquisite as always. Please extend my compliments to Boss.” 

“No prob,” Futaba replied around a mouthful of food. “I think he could tell you liked it, even from back there,” she assured him. 

After she finished her food and cleaned up their table, depositing the dishes in the sink with a mental thanks and sorry to Sojiro, Futaba marched back over to the table. “Alright. Let’s go. Mission Start!” she announced, motioning Yusuke up. 

“Did you not bring it with you?” he asked, a little surprised. 

“Nah, its in my room, I just thought you’d focus better if I fed you first,” she told him as he rose and grabbed his school bag. That’s a purse, Futaba thought for the millionth time. An oversized purse. Should I tell him or does he know? As usual, she decided he probably knew, like the time she pointed out that what he was wearing was absolutely a BLOUSE, it buttoned on the left, and look at the tag, this is women’s sizing, only to have Yusuke look at her levelly and deadpan “so?” before explaining that the delicate blush pink had caught his eye across the secondhand store and he simply couldn’t leave without it. 

“While I’d like to protest, I can’t argue with the whims of the stomach,” he admitted, following her to the door of Leblanc. While it hadn’t rained on them the day Ann had been worried about, it was positively pouring now. 

“Ah, dang it,” Futaba sighed, looking out the glass and thinking about her Featherman umbrella, in the stand by the door… of her house, down the road. 

“I failed to bring one, as well,” Yusuke lamented, seemingly reading her thoughts. 

“Guess we’ll have to book it?” she suggested, checking around the entryway to see if someone abandoned an umbrella at Leblanc in the recent past. No dice. Maybe Sojiro had one to lend them? But if he did it would be here by the door anyway, she knew. She made a mental note to bring one over from home before the shop closed, if it was still raining then. 

“I see no other option,” he sighed. 

They endured a soggy three minute dash during which Futaba squeaked and squealed at every puddle they splashed through in the cramped, uneven back alleys of Yongen. Yusuke started out grimacing each time as his shoes and pant cuffs started to soak through, until eventually Futaba’s maniacal, childlike glee became infectious and he found himself chuckling as she plunged, boots first, into every bit of standing water she could find. Her hair, vibrant even when soaked, streamed out behind her like a banner as she flew, propelling herself along, shrieking and laughing, glasses covered with droplets. Without even thinking, Yusuke held his hands up, thumbs and forefingers forming a frame around the scene, and considered the composition, the dynamic poses, the contrast of colors, until the rain intensified and a particularly fat drop splashed right inside the collar of his shirt on the back of his neck, startling him back into motion.

They slammed the door to the Sakura residence behind them, dripping onto the entryway floor, breathless with exertion and laughter. “Level up!” Futaba cried, punching the air, “rainstorm no-umbrella dash!” Yusuke had no idea how this translated to leveling up in a game or something, but was happy that she seemed to be in high spirits despite the water pooling on the floor around them. They took off their shoes and Yusuke his socks, since they were totally soaked, making squishy sounds on the hardwood. 

“Ugh,” Futaba grunted as she looked at him, barefoot, dripping socks in hand. “I need to change so I can dry my uniform. But you…” she trailed off, tapping a slender finger, tipped in black, against her chin. Yusuke regarded her with as much dignity as one holding their own wet socks and looking through a curtain of sodden hair could muster. Eventually she came to a conclusion of some sort, rocking from heel to toe a couple of times as she sang out “Ohhhh-kay! Come with me!” She stomped up the stairs to the second floor, down a hallway Yusuke knew well enough from the two or three times he had been here before, around when they had stolen Futaba’s heart. She pushed open the sticker and caution-tape covered door to her room and ushered him in. 

“Hang tight for one second…. And don’t touch anything!” she admonished as she saw him glance towards the Featherman Rangers, heads now returned to the proper bodies and poses. Yusuke thought about sitting down, on the bed or the computer chair, but worried about his damp clothes, so instead he just sort of… hovered. His eye was drawn to a stack of books by the bed and he turned his head to the side to read the spines: a textbook about electromagnetic physics, a book about mothman, three volumes of a manga he hadn’t heard of but which sported giant robots on the cover, a cosplay magazine and an issue of PC Monthly. He was reaching for the manga when the closet slammed shut and Futaba whirled around, holding a bundle of clothes. “What did I say about touching?” she asked, glaring at his outstretched hand. 

“Well, surely, you just meant the toys…” he started, affronted, when her eyes narrowed at him behind her oversized glasses. “Action figures,” he corrected himself obediently.

“Any of it, Inari! Here, I remembered there being some clothes in the things Akira left behind in the attic when we cleaned it out last summer and I ended up sticking a bunch of it in here. I know you’re not exactly the same stats, but they should be fine while I wash and dry your uniform, right?” Yusuke took the clothes from her and held them out- a pair of olive green sweatpants and a long sleeved black t shirt. He nodded. He was, of course, taller than Joker by a few inches and thinner as well, but he could deal with sleeves that were too short for the sake of being dry. He thanked her and headed off to the bathroom to change as she began rifling around in the dresser for clothes for herself. 

When he returned from changing, sporting pants that were a bit too short, but not comically so since they were lounge pants anyway, and sleeves that could more accurately have been described as three-quarter length, Futaba was in terrycloth shorts and a tie-dye t-shirt with a big green alien on the front. It looked homemade. She held out her arms, already burdened with her Shujin uniform, minus the blazer which was now hanging neatly on the closet door. Yusuke added his clothes to the pile and she scampered off downstairs to put them in the washer. He flopped down on the bed this time, which was unmade and sported a galaxy print comforter over sheets patterned with Keroppi. He looked around the room unabashedly without Futaba there to get self-conscious about it. He took it in holistically, rather than in the piecemeal fashion he had limited himself to in her presence, and decided he liked it. There was a hodgepodge of things everywhere, toys and knicknacks and books and things thumbtacked to the walls here and there in clusters, such that it surprised him to find that there was a cohesive aesthetic to the overall appearance. There were enough repeated motifs- space and aliens, robots, black and bright green- that it somehow came together. Despite the hectic and cluttered collection of objects and the overall untidiness of the space, it still had the feel of being carefully curated. Over the impressive computer setup with the many monitors, on a high shelf sat the doll mask he had admired when she wore it the first time they actually met face to face, outside of the metaverse. It even smelled pleasant, Yusuke thought to himself, inhaling deeply, like clean laundry and some kind of faint incense. Sandalwood maybe. He was a bit surprised about that, since the blackout curtains over the window he would bet anything had never been opened, and the chaotic sprawl of books and papers on the desk and the floor by the bed, the empty soda bottles cluttering the desk, none of it exactly screamed “fresh, pleasant air.”

Futaba came back in then, toweling off her hair. She tossed the towel into Yusuke’s lap with a chirped “your turn!” and sat down at the desk. As he dried his hair and then combed it artfully back into place with his fingers, she picked up a pile on the desk that ended up being a laptop, charger, and a few other accessories. She spun around in the chair with it all on her lap. “I figured you could have this,” she started, tapping on the laptop, which was covered in stickers, their meanings all cryptic to Yusuke; cute cartoon mascots and anime characters and brand logos for who knew what. “Its a couple years old, but I made a few modifications to it back when that should keep it running smoothly for what you need to do- nothing major, of course, just upgraded the RAM and the graphics card.” Yusuke nodded as though he knew what any of that meant in a practical sense for his computer usage. “I managed to dig up the charger, which I was pretty surprised about- the cord is a little weird right here from where I used to run it over with the chair a lot, but I checked and it still works. And then there’s this: I wasn’t sure if you’d have one of these but I’m not using it and honestly its a pretty cheap one anyway since I’m no ‘artiste.’” She held up a black plastic square with a USB cord dangling from it, about the size of a DVD case. 

“A tablet?” He asked, recognizing it though he had never really used one. Some of the arts students did digital art, though it was mostly students in design or animation that really worked wholly in the medium. He was an absolute purist normally when it came to art, which was why he was so frustrated at being asked to work with anything other than a paintbrush or pencil. 

“Yeah, I even found the pen for it! I told you, its a cheapy one so if you break it in a fit of artistic rage you only owe me like, two kakigori. Or one really good crane game prize. Anyway, I figured you could try it and it might make some stuff easier.”

“This is… you have my thanks,” he said warmly. “This is above and beyond my expectations.” He looked at her with his head tilted and a furrow of concern, familiar to Futaba, between his brows. She attempted to head him off at the pass.

“Its really nbd. Its stuff I had and wasn’t using, honestly. Don’t thank me before you try it out, young Jedi,” she dodged, hands up “stop” style. “Now let’s talk about software.”

Futaba had reformatted the hard drive and reinstalled the OS when she dug out the old laptop, and she had taken the time to install various drivers, Photoshop, Painttool SAI, and anything else she could think of that might be useful. It hadn’t really taken too much of her time, and she certainly wasn’t going to hand over a laptop with data still remotely intact. In fact she had been thinking a lot about this, ever since Ann had suggested it and she had tentatively agreed. It had been so long since she had been able to make herself _useful_ to anyone in any way, really. Ann and Ryuji were the only people she saw regularly at school, she hadn’t made any new friends, and if anything they were the ones doing her a favor. They were two years ahead of her so they had all the advice and all the wisdom. She “helped” Sojiro at Leblanc from time to time, but they both knew he didn’t really need the help, and that she wasn’t nearly as useful as Akira had been, mainly just good for washing dishes and making incredibly awkward and uncomfortable small talk with the handful of regulars keeping the place afloat. It was more for her benefit than it was an actual service for Sojiro. So even though she was trepidatious about how much assistance she’d actually be able to provide, something in her leapt at the missing sense of being useful and essential that had been part of her life as Oracle. As a Phantom Thief she felt like she had been able to pay for her change of heart and the support of the group with her skills; the Phantom Thieves relied on Oracle. Now that there were no Phantom Thieves, there was no Oracle. There was just Futaba Sakura, and no one relied on Futaba Sakura for anything. If she could teach [ grandpakitagawa.jp](http://grandpakitagawa.jp)g to use photoshop, well, then, that would be something at least. So she did. 

They sat side by side on her bed for about an hour as she showed him around the basics as far as she understood them- it turned out he actually had a pretty decent working knowledge of the mechanics and just seemed to be more frustrated at feeling disconnected from the process, like the tech was standing in his way. In Futaba’s opinion the only cure for that was practice, but when she told him so, he groaned. She thought of herself, promising to try to get along with people at school, promising to go out in crowds, and how she really felt about these tasks. Maybe what Yusuke needed was a promise. Some tough love.

“Listen, I could let you fail this class,” she started, holding up an index finger. Yusuke frowned and started to defend himself, no doubt to protest that he could never possibly fail, but she continued. “But I’m not going to. Instead, I propose a deal. Move your base of operations to the attic at Leblanc and I’ll help you whenever you want,” Yusuke frowned harder, but less offended and more confused. He was on the brink of asking her what she could possibly get out of this arrangement when Futaba suddenly sprang up like a rocket. “Ah, crap! The laundry!” she yelled as she dashed out of the room and down the stairs to move it over to the dryer. 

Her absence gave Yusuke a chance to clear his head and consider her proposition. Part of him practically salivated at the idea of all that space- he had his cramped dorm room to work in, and then shared space in the large studios on campus, so his options were privacy and quiet or space but never both. The attic was perfect for a studio, really; a place to sit, a place to nap, a largish desk, and a huge amount of space for easels and canvases and whatever else he might desire. He could get into sculpture if the mood struck him, even. The other part of him wondered about Futaba’s motivations, and whether she even had the authority to offer that to him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t kind to him, just that she was also tricky and mischievous and liked to pick on him. Still, all that space, Leblanc (and by extension food and coffee) right downstairs, a computer genius at his disposal for when he was frustrated by some bit of knowledge he lacked… Futaba’s conditions would have to be pretty harsh for this to not seem like a good deal. He had a faint nagging concern about repurposing the space that Akira had lived in for that year, though, like as soon as it wasn’t preserved intact that he would never come back. Ridiculous, of course, it wasn’t like a few canvases and some supplies on the shelves would be the thing to stand in the way, and as far as anyone knew he had no immediate plans to return to Tokyo anyway. If he did, it would certainly be after finishing school and would he still want to live in Sojiro’s dusty storage space then? It seemed unlikely, though Yusuke had to admit to a certain nostalgic longing for the period of change and upheaval and new friends that made him want to see Akira back in that attic, Morgana with him, and the whole team meeting regularly for coffee and strategy talks.

Futaba bounded back into the room and stood facing him where he sat. “Well?” she asked expectantly, with a smug look, as though she already knew the answer. 

“Hmm…” Yusuke was trying to seem more uncertain than he really was, not wanting to play into her hand. “What about Boss?” He tipped his head elegantly to the side, hair slipping to cover one eye. 

“Already texted him!” Futaba’s triumph at having anticipated this move was palpable. “He says its fine as long as you ‘don’t cause trouble,’ “ she had put on a gruff imitation of Sojiro for the last part, wagging a finger in the air and slouching her posture to look like her adopted father scolding. 

“And then….” Yusuke pushed the errant hair back into place. “I hate to ask, but I must… What is it that you’re getting out of this arrangement? Why, I suppose, is what I’d like to know,” he braced himself for her response.

“Well, he’s smarter than he looks! Of course I’m always happy to help a friend, but… you must know how to sew, right?” She handed him the cosplay magazine from the stack of reading materials by the bed. There were several pages dog eared and paperclipped, upon closer inspection. The sound of the other shoe falling could be heard somewhere in Yusuke’s mind. 

“Hmm…. a bit,” he answered as he flipped through the glossy publication, pages on techniques and fabrics, full page spreads of extremely skillfully executed costumes of anime and video game characters. 

“And what about makeup? Like stage makeup? I don’t mean regular stuff, I’d just go to Ann for that,” Futaba’s eyes were practically sparkling, she looked about one second from reaching forward and shaking his shoulders. 

“I’ve never done it…” Yusuke said absentmindedly as he narrowed his eyes in interest at a spread of someone in a futuristic witch costume, admiring the clean lines and color palette of the robes, the intricate hairstyle. “But if it can be done with a brush I can learn,” he mused with the confidence bordering on cockiness she had only ever seen from him when it came to combat and the arts. WIN! Final Fantasy style fanfare played in Futaba’s head. She had a sewing machine she barely knew how to use on one of the shelves up in the attic over Leblanc, but there was a con coming up, and she had always wanted to try cosplaying. Now that she had gotten better with normal sized crowds, she felt like she could handle a mega-crowd _if_ she had some kind of disguise. And the thing about an anime convention is that it wasn’t even like she’d stand out being in disguise, since it was practically every other person that would be doing it! She could have the sense of security she felt with the papier-mâché doll head on with the added bonus of actually looking cool as hell and also not like a complete weirdo given the setting. She couldn’t wait to tell Sojiro and Akira that she had walked around at an event with 20,000 people without completely bugging out. Futaba also had to admit that she had kind of missed the Oracle getup now that she was back to just regular clothes and not her own mental cognition of what a bad-ass looked like. It would be fun to design something outlandish and have the chance to wear it. 

“So that’s a yes, then? You can’t pass the story branch if you don’t choose one of the dialog options, Inari,” she admonished, hands on hips. Yusuke looked up from the magazine. 

“Ah, pardon me,” he apologized despite undoubtedly having no idea what she meant. “Yes, I’ll do it. While it _is_ a bit out of my way, the spaciousness more than makes up for it. It would be nice to see Boss more often, too,” he added. 

Bribe Yusuke with food and then challenge his artistic abilities was super effective! Hit two times! Futaba’s mind was already racing with possibilities for her project now that she knew she’d have a competent set of hands on it. When it came right down to it, though his understanding of action figures had a ways to go still, he was talented and had a remarkable eye for style and aesthetic. “Hell yeah! Correct choice! Friendship meter increase!” she praised, plopping back down next to him to spend the remaining time until his clothes were dry pointing out things in the magazine that she might like to try for her outfit, and showing him characters from shows and video games that she thought had cool designs she might like to try on her phone. For his part, Yusuke seemed genuinely interested, pointing out details of character designs that he thought would be hard to tackle, or suggesting ways to replicate certain effects. Some outfits he predictably rejected entirely on the basis of being too bland or too garish or having a color palette that was all over the place. 

 

When the clothes were finally done, Futaba walked with Yusuke as far as Leblanc, sending him the rest of the way to the subway station with a somewhat battered spare travel umbrella she found in the entryway, though the rain had subsided significantly. Her trusty Featherman umbrella in hand, she brought Sojiro’s over for him and found him half-dozing on a stool in the completely empty restaurant, leaned up against the wall under the TV. At the jingling of the bell on the door he jolted to attention, knocking the stool over with a clatter in the process. “Time to close up a bit early, old man?” she sang, waving the umbrella at him as she folded up her own and shook it out. “You forgot this. Unlikely to get anyone else in in this weather. I can help wash up,” she said as she marched behind the counter to do just that, whistling to herself as she went. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sojiro asked, trying to sound more curious than surprised. Futaba had been in a funk lately and the last thing he needed was to make it worse, since she’d been doing so well with going to school. 

“Big plans on the horizon, Sojiro. Machinations. Cosmic gears turning. The blood moon rises once again,” she rattled off, trailing off as she opened the taps to fill the dish sink with soapy water. Sojiro, used to these kinds of opaque utterances, just shrugged and went to go flip the sign on the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 2! Quite a bit longer than the first one, I know. I'll be cleaning up and posting chapter 3 in the next couple of days.
> 
> I really appreciate you taking the time to read, since as I mentioned previously, I haven't really posted fic too much before, so it means a lot! If there's anything I'm grotesquely fucking up or anything I'm somehow getting right, feel free to let me know. 
> 
> If you want to visit or drop me a line on Tumblr, I'm @evenifittakesahundredyears over there as well. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking out the first chapter! I'm not sure exactly how many there will be just yet, but I have at least 3 fully written and I think 10 is a fair estimate total. Please let me know what you think of it! I'm going to post the first three chapters pretty quickly, I just need to do a bit more proofreading and editing and then I'll post the rest on a semi regular schedule. 
> 
> I was really surprised by how little content there is for this pairing given that when I played through the game (three times haha please send help) I was consistently delighted by their interactions with one another and felt they had a lot of similarities and compatibility. I'm not one of those people who gets aggro about ships but I think this is a nice one with some potential and I like thinking about it!
> 
> This is the first work I've posted on this platform and pretty close to the first fic I've posted publicly! If anyone is interested in beta reading my subsequent chapters, drop me a line!
> 
> I recently made myself a newish tumblr for writing stuff, feel free to drop me a line there or come visit. I'm @evenifittakesahundredyears over there, too.


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